#zero to ten antics are a language Nesta can speak right back

[flowerflamestars]

Announcing: Haunted Holy and Divine

Azriel lived closer than most.

True shadow, true ice, true unmoving mountain stone. He walked the realm of whispers and long ago forgotten secrets more than he ever had the Court of Night. The dead held onto to nothing but their stories, their songs, their singular driving desires, and in that too, Azriel belonged more in their pitch black cold than the waking world.

The Court of Dreams.

It had meant something, once, to serve the Dreaming Throne.

A hope a hundred voices warned him was wrong, would not last, would not linger- long before his own dreams filled with innocent screams, Azriel had known goddamn well he’d sold his soul to the wrong man.

Five centuries and fifty years in a cage without the sky, he knew every secret of the City of Starlight. Everything that haunted his High Lord. Every way out, every way in, every wasted excess, useless crime, hollow benediction.

Every bruise, on Nesta Archeron’s immortal body.

Frigid winter without end, frost so very thick. Black bruises on her pale skin, lavender light when the sun hit her, cool as a corpse. Death could not hide her beautiful face from Azriel, no matter how she tried.

Maybe he had never had a soul to sell at all, but Azriel had never forgotten his first god.

Would never forget, how those of his own number had treated her.